For the first time, Pan Long felt that the stone chamber serving as a "trial stage" was not big enough.
The chamber was at least a hundred feet square and more than fifty feet high, larger than an ordinary building. But right now, all he could think was: Too small! This place was too small!
If only it were a little roomier!
Covered in blood, he desperately darted and dodged, moving his body in such an erratic fashion that Newton would have died of rage and Brown would have collapsed laughing.
It looked ridiculous. In practice, it was grueling.
Overcoming inertia required work. That was one of the iron laws of classical mechanics. Immortals and Buddhas might not have to obey it, but Pan Long did.
Making his body move so wildly consumed a staggering amount of stamina and Internal Power. It also put tremendous strain on his muscles, meridians, and even his organs.
If his physique had not been extraordinarily tough, an ordinary Innate Master would probably have coughed up blood and ascended on the spot. No enemy would have needed to strike; internal injuries would have killed him first.
Even Pan Long was in a sorry state. Most of the blood covering him was his own. Changing direction abruptly at full speed, or even accelerating backward in an instant, was the sort of madness only someone with no regard for his life would attempt. Coughing up blood was perfectly normal.
But he had no choice.
The enemy he faced was simply too strange.
It looked like a streak of light and moved faster than imagination.
In less than ten seconds of fighting it, Pan Long had been struck at least thirty or fifty times. Each hit drained a little of his Primordial Qi. In that brief span, it